The Wandering Jew — Volume 08 eBook

violence, and despair. Those false shepherds,
supported ay the powerful and wealthy of the world,
who in all times have been their accomplices, instead
of asking here below a little happiness for my brethren,
who have been suffering and groaning for centuries,
dare to utter, in Thy name, O Lord! that the poor
must always be doomed to the tortures of this world,
and that it is criminal in Thine eyes that they should
either wish for or hope a mitigation of their sufferings
on earth, because the happiness of the few and the
wretchedness of nearly all mankind is Thine almighty
will. Blasphemies! is it not the contrary of
these homicidal words that is more worthy of the name
of Divine will? Hear, me, O Lord! for mercy’s
sake. Snatch from their enemies the descendants
of my sister, from the artisan up to the king’s
son. Do not permit them to crush the germ of
a mighty and fruitful association, which, perhaps,
under Thy protection, may take its place among the
records of the happiness of mankind. Suffer me,
O Lord! to unite those whom they are endeavoring to
divide—­to defend those whom they are attacking.
Suffer me to bring hope to those from whom hope has
fled, to give courage to those who are weak, to uphold
those whom evil threatens, and to sustain those who
would persevere in well-doing. And then, perhaps,
their struggles, their devotedness, their virtues,
this miseries might expiate my sin. Yes, mine—­misfortune,
misfortune alone, made me unjust and wicked.
O Lord! since Thine almighty hand hath brought me
hither, for some end unknown to me, disarm Thyself,
I implore Thee, of Thine anger, and let not me be
the instrument of Thy vengeance! There is enough
of mourning in the earth these two years past—­Thy
creatures have fallen by millions in my footsteps.
The world is decimated. A veil of mourning extends
from one end of the globe to the other. I have
traveled from Asia even to the Frozen Pole, and death
has followed in my wake. Dost Thou not hear,
O Lord! the universal wailings that mount up to Thee?
Have mercy upon all, and upon me. One day, grant
me but a single day, that I may collect the descendants
of my sister together, and save them!” And uttering
these words, the wanderer fell upon his knees, and
raised his hands to heaven in a suppliant attitude.

Suddenly, the wind howled with redoubled violence;
its sharp whistlings changed to a tempest. The
Wanderer trembled, and exclaimed in a voice of terror,
“O Lord! the blast of death is howling in its
rage. It appears as though a whirlwind were lifting
me up. Lord, wilt Thou not, then, hear my prayer?
The spectre! O! do I behold the spectre?
Yes, there it is; its cadaverous countenance is agitated
by convulsive throes, its red eyes are rolling in
their orbits. Begone! begone! Oh! its hand—­its
icy hand has seized on mine! Mercy, Lord, have
mercy! ‘Onward!’ Oh, Lord! this scourge,
this terrible avenging scourge! Must I, then,
again carry it into this city, must my poor wretched